Phantom Lover

by Rebecca York

  An unladylike curse sprang to her lips. Every damn bush on the estate looked as though it hadn’t been pruned in years, and now here was Graves working away as if he performed this service on a regular basis.

  Probably he’d been sent out here to make sure she didn’t get to Hirsch, she decided, thinking how paranoid that sounded. Yet she couldn’t come up with any other explanation.

  She thought about marching to the driveway anyway and asking for a private word with the school official. But that would certainly tip her hand—perhaps without doing any good. All she knew about Hirsch was from one brief meeting. He’d gotten a favorable impression of her from the work she’d presented. But that could change if she came across as an hysterical female and he went back to Nola with his assessment.

  Her lower lip clamped between her teeth, she watched him get into his car and disappear down the driveway.

  Her pace was slow as she returned to the schoolroom. Under her breath she began talking to Troy.

  “Well, the school board isn’t going to toss me out on my ear,” she told him. “But I’m no closer to getting out of here than I was when they locked the gate behind me. Any suggestions?”

  He didn’t answer, and she cut off the one-sided conversation as she stepped into the room.

  Looking around, she was seized by a moment of panic when she didn’t immediately see Dinah at the desk. Then she spotted the girl sitting in the love seat in the small alcove at one side of the room. A large book was spread across her lap.

  As the child glanced up and saw her, a pinched look captured her face.

  Bree walked quickly toward her.

  “I—I know I’m supposed to be working,” the small voice quavered. “But I was afraid you’d have to leave.”

  “No. Everything’s fine,” Bree said, thinking that at least the statement applied to her tenure here.

  “I’m glad,” Dinah whispered.

  “Me, too.”

  Slipping onto the love seat beside the little girl, she looked down at the book. It was a picture album.

  She saw several photos of Dinah with Troy. Then Dinah with Grace.

  “That’s your mom?” Bree asked as she studied the photographs, thinking that Grace London had been very attractive.

  “Yes,” the girl whispered. “I look at pictures of her because when I don’t, I start to forget what she looked like.”

  Bree’s heart squeezed. Quietly she slipped her arm around the child and felt gratified as Dinah leaned into her.

  “Can I look through your album?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  Though they were sitting on a sofa pushed against the wall, Bree had the feeling that someone was behind her, watching as she turned the pages.

  “You were a very cute baby,” Bree said, hearing the tightness in her own voice. “And you’ve turned into a very pretty little girl.”

  “That’s what Daddy said.”

  Bree nodded then quietly asked, “How did your mom and dad get along?”

  Dinah was silent for several moments and Bree was afraid she wasn’t going to answer.

  Finally she said, “Sometimes I would hear them fighting, and it would make me sad—and afraid.”

  “Yes. That would be upsetting and scary.”

  The child nodded.

  Bree took in a breath and let it out while considering her next words. “I know your daddy was upset about your mom getting killed in that automobile accident. Do you know what happened? I mean, do you know who was driving the car?”

  She kept her breath even, wondering what the child was going to say.

  BREE WASN’T THE ONLY ONE who wanted to hear how Dinah would answer. From his hiding place Troy focused on the little girl, waiting anxiously. He knew Dinah had heard the adults talking. What did she know?

  He had been drawn here by the child. By the woman. Yet he realized that he wasn’t going to do either one of them any good. He would only pull them down to his level, and he couldn’t let that happen.

  Last night he had fulfilled one of his most enduring fantasies—holding Bree in his arms. He had wanted to give her pleasure. He had told himself that making love with her had been a good thing. Now he wasn’t so sure. She wanted to help him. But she couldn’t help. There was only one thing she could do for him—get the child away from Ravencrest.

  But Bree had spent the early morning looking for him. She was talking to him as she walked around the house, for Lord’s sake. And searching for him wasn’t where she should be putting her energy.

  Conflicting needs warred within him and he thought about showing himself to Bree and Dinah now. He could step out of hiding, communicate directly. But that would only give them hope that things were going to change. And as pieces of his memory had fitted themselves back into place, he had finally realized that nothing could change. Not for him. And not for them.

  He had made some bad mistakes in the past. He wasn’t going to compound those mistakes now. Not with Dinah. And not with Bree. Which meant treading carefully—and making sure that neither one of them thought they were going to live happily ever after with him.

  So he waited—listening, watching and trying to figure out how he could make things come out right for the two people he had come to care about most in the world.

  “I WASN’T SUPPOSED TO BE listening,” Dinah said tentatively.

  “It’s okay. I know kids listen in on adult conversations. I used to do it when I was little, too.”

  Dinah nodded, but she lowered her voice as she said, “I heard my daddy talking to Mr. Alexander about it. He didn’t know I was spying on them.”

  “Who is Mr. Alexander?”

  “Our minister.”

  “Oh. What did your daddy say to him?”

  “It was private.”

  She stroked her hand over the child’s slender shoulder. “But it would help me to understand if you can tell me what your daddy said.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m trying to figure out what’s happening at Ravencrest.”

  Dinah nodded. “He said Mommy was driving, but they were fighting, so he felt like it was his fault.”

  Bree stroked the child’s shoulder. “Thank you for telling me.”

  “Did that help you understand?”

  “Yes,” she answered. At least it confirmed what Troy had told her, although it didn’t explain a lot of other things, of course. But Troy had been upset and had turned to his minister for comfort. Under the circumstances, it seemed unlikely that Troy would lie to the man.

  For several moments she focused on the book, turning the pages, studying pictures of the family. When you looked casually at the photographs, the people looked happy. But if you examined the images more carefully, you picked up signs of tension.

  She saw a tightness in Troy’s jaw and a sullen look she came to recognize in Grace’s eyes. They seemed like people who weren’t entirely comfortable with each other but were making the best of a bad situation. And the strain was getting to be too much for them.

  The photos stopped abruptly, leaving a dozen blank pages at the back of the book.

  “I wish there were more pictures,” Dinah said.

  “Yes.” She wanted to say something else comforting, but she wasn’t sure what.

  They were both quiet for a moment, then Bree reached into her pocket and pulled out the key that she’d discovered taped to the bottom of the desk drawer. She’d kept it with her since she’d found it. “There’s something else you might be able to help me with,” she said, holding it up. “Do you know what this key unlocks?”

  The child stared at it. “I’ve seen Daddy with that key,” she finally said. “I think it opens his strongbox.”

  Bree felt her heart thump in her chest. “Where does he keep his strongbox?”

  “In his room.”

  Where she’d been the night before. Where he’d made love to her—at least as far as he was willing to go before he left her alone in bed. She’d silently vowed no
t to go there again. But now things had changed. She wasn’t going there to meet him. She was going to look for the strongbox.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Once again Bree found herself sitting on her bed, waiting for the house to settle down so she could do what had been forbidden. Go to Troy’s room.

  It was a risk she didn’t want to take, because the better she got to know Dinah, the more she liked the child. If she got kicked out of Ravencrest, she felt like she’d be throwing the little girl to the wolves.

  But at the same time the key was burning a hole in her pocket. She’d been sent here to find out what was wrong, and whatever was in the strongbox might provide the answer. Ultimately that might be the only way to help Dinah.

  “Damn you, Troy,” Bree murmured as she slipped out of her room and headed down the hall. “You’ve put me in a pretty uncomfortable situation.”

  There was a stirring in the air, similar to the vibrations she’d felt in the grove but more subtle. The atmosphere around her seemed to thicken and she felt as though her steps were slowed by some invisible force.

  “Stop it,” she muttered. “I’m going to your room, whether you like it or not.”

  “What about Dinah?” Troy’s voice whispered from some hidden vantage point, his question echoing her own uncertainty.

  “What about her?”

  “You can’t risk getting fired.”

  “That’s right. So do something about it!” she challenged.

  There was a breathless moment when nothing apparently happened. Then the air in the hallway changed, so that she no longer felt trapped in molasses. Now the sensation was entirely different, as though she were in the middle of an invisible bubble that moved with her as she made her way down the hall and then up the stairs.

  It might be an illusion, but she felt that inside the space nobody could see her, although she didn’t want to put the theory to the test. So she hurried along, staying in the shadows as best she could.

  When she came to the back stairway, she heard voices and stopped abruptly.

  It was Abner and Nola talking again. Last night they’d seemed on edge. Tonight the effect was magnified.

  The protective bubble seemed to pull closer around her, as if Troy had taken her in his arms. She felt as if she were leaning into his strength as she pressed back against the wall.

  Nola was shouting at Abner. “I can’t take it anymore. That crazy session with Hirsch was the last straw. I’m tired of playing this role. I’m getting out of here, with or without you!”

  “And going where? Maybe if I’d found Graves’s stash of money, we could have done something. But not now.”

  Bree blinked. Abner had been prowling around looking for cash?

  “Too bad,” Nola continued. “Because I have to get away from this horrible place. Away from the ghost and that damn imperious housekeeper. So you get us out of here, or I’m going alone.”

  “Don’t act like this is my fault!”

  The tone of his voice made the hairs on the back of Bree’s neck prickle. He was so angry at his wife, she shuddered to think what he’d do if he realized someone was standing in the hall listening to them.

  It was almost as if Troy caught her thought and used the powers she’d observed outside. In the next moment she felt a gust of wind spring up in the stairwell.

  She could see nothing but she felt a wave of cold air rush down the steps, toward the couple in the hall below.

  On the first floor she heard Nola gasp. “What was that?”

  “Hell if I know. It’s like when I was going to Graves’s shed to look for the money.”

  The voices had been close, now they moved quickly away. As Bree strained her ears, the sound of the conversation faded and she was left standing alone in the hallway.

  Well, not alone.

  She still felt Troy’s presence.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, the words barely audible.

  “I didn’t do much,” he answered in the same low tone. Or maybe she only imagined the small exchange. Maybe she was going batty and imagining a lot of things. Like a hurricane inside the house.

  Lips clamped together, she hurried down the hall to his room. “I assume you’ve unlocked the door for me this time,” she whispered under her breath as she reached for the knob.

  It turned easily in her hand.

  Once she had been afraid to lock herself in here with a madman. Now she turned without hesitation and flipped the latch.

  For several heartbeats she stood facing the door, feeling the darkness of the chamber pressing against her back. Then, squaring her shoulders, she pivoted to face the room. This was the one place where she’d actually seen Troy. Well, here and in the grove. But in this room the lines of his body had not been obscured by the whirling leaves. He had been real. Solid. Warm. Loving. Until he’d slipped away like a thief in the night.

  “You’re here, aren’t you? So let me see you,” she said. “Or are you playing games with me? The way you played games with Miss Carpenter. Why don’t you make it easy for me and show me where to find the strongbox?”

  She waited with her heart pounding. For a moment she was sure he wasn’t going to answer her. Then she heard a faint noise and turned toward the closet. In the next breath the door opened and he stepped into the darkened room.

  Her heart leaped. “Troy!”

  Now that he was here, he came to her swiftly, taking her into his arms, holding her tightly. And she clasped him just as tightly, leaning into his warmth and strength, breathing in his familiar scent.

  “I didn’t play games with Miss Carpenter,” he growled. “Well, I did, but not what you think. She and Nola got into some pretty strange discussions about the ghost. Sexual discussions.”

  “Nola tried to do that with me.”

  “I know. I didn’t want Dinah hearing that kind of talk. So I decided to scare Miss Carpenter away.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’d scare you away, too, if I could.”

  “Well, I can’t just leave. I can’t exactly walk back to town with Dinah.”

  He nodded against the top of her head.

  “Do you know who disabled my car?”

  “Graves. I saw him.”

  “Why didn’t you stop him?”

  “I didn’t want to be seen.”

  The conversation was going in circles as it had so often with Troy. By this time she’d learned that if he didn’t want to deal with a subject, they weren’t going to get anywhere with it. She sighed. “Are you going to show me where to find the strongbox?”

  “Later.”

  There was a decisiveness in the way he said it, a strength she’d only sensed at their earlier encounters.

  Bending, he captured her mouth in a kiss that tasted of urgency and raw male power—power that swept her along in its sensual spell.

  She had come here on important business—his business. She had been angry with him for leaving the bed last night before she had gotten what she wanted. Yet now that she was in his arms, once again he worked his sexual magic on her.

  In the back of her mind she knew that the sensual assault was deliberate, that he wasn’t going to give her time to think. Not now.

  She had vowed not to fall under his spell again. But apparently his special powers extended into the erotic realm, because she couldn’t even remember why she had come here, except to find him. All she wanted at this moment was the deep rich taste of him, the thrilling feel of his hands on her body.

  When he lifted his head, they were both breathing in hard, uneven gasps.

  “Last time,” she stammered, “I wanted more from you.”

  “And I couldn’t give it to you. Not then.”

  A deep, overwhelming disappointment seized her. But in the next moment he soothed it away.

  “This time will be different.”

  “Why?”

  “Because when you give to me, you give me your power.”

  She didn’t exactly understand what he meant
but she wanted to believe that he trusted her in a way he hadn’t trusted her before.

  When he took her hand and led her into the bedroom, she went willingly. Moonlight streamed through the window, giving her enough light to see him. Maybe because she was still a little afraid that he’d disappear into thin air, she grasped the front of his shirt and began opening buttons, then slipped her hand inside, flattening her palm against his warm flesh.

  She loved the hard muscles she felt. Loved the springy hair under her touch. Loved the way he sucked in his breath when her fingers stroked over his nipples.

  Quickly she unbuttoned the shirt the rest of the way, then pushed it off his shoulders and onto the floor. When she reached for the hem of her own knit top, he stopped her hand.

  “Let me,” he growled, his voice rough as he dragged the garment over her head. Working quickly and efficiently, he got rid of her bra in almost the same motion.

  She felt exposed and vulnerable, standing there naked to the waist. She watched his hands move in slow motion as he reached toward her breasts, then forgot everything else as his palms cupped her.

  “You are so beautiful. So feminine,” he murmured as he touched and stroked her, his fingers cresting over her nipples, wringing a cry of pleasure from her.

  Then he folded his arms around her back, bringing her against him—not tightly, just so that he could sway her in his embrace, stroking her breasts against the hair of his chest. It was exquisite. Arousing. So good that she could hardly stand.

  He steadied her with one hand as the other removed her slacks and panties.

  She wanted him naked, too. She had never seen him naked, she realized. Always before he had kept his body hidden from her. So she reached out and unhooked the snap at the top of his jeans, then held her breath as she waited for him to object. Instead he bent to find her mouth with his, and while he kissed her, she lowered his zipper. Reaching inside, she pressed her palm against his erection, gratified by his swift, indrawn breath. Quickly then she got rid of his jeans and briefs and stepped back to look at him.

  He was magnificent. Fully aroused and very male. But he cut short her visual tour as he folded her back into his arms, sighing deeply as the naked length of her body settled against his.